Chapter Text
No one knew what they were supposed to think about the newest Hero.
His own era seemed to know next to nothing about him, which in and of itself wasn’t that weird; Twilight went out of his way to keep his own private life private, after all, and Time had managed to find a certain degree of anonymity in the years since his adventures.
But this was something different. It was something weird. No two people had the same story to tell about the local hero, despite widespread stories of a great evil only recently defeated.
One traveller said that the hero was dead, that his ghost had briefly risen to save Hyrule but was now back at rest. Someone else said there was no hero, but spoke of a creature from the woods who would sometimes appear in the dead of night to guide lost travellers back to safety. Yet another person said that there was a hero but there was something off about him, that he wasn’t like other people and preferred to live in isolation.
A particularly precocious child said that he lived in the abandoned woodsman’s cottage on the Great Plateau, and was viciously scolded by her mother and pulled away.
So the Chain went to the Great Plateau in search of their newest brother.
Whatever they were expecting, it was not what they found. The Plateau was completely isolated from the rest of Hyrule, surrounded on all sides by a sheer cliff that, even with the aid of their hookshots, they knew would be a pain to climb. Still, there was nothing else for it.
Up the cliff they went.
“It’s like he doesn’t even want to meet other people!” Wind huffed in frustration. They had been climbing for well over an hour and in the distance the sun was starting to inch towards the horizon. They were just over halfway up the cliff, and were taking a break on a small ledge, eagerly catching their breath and shaking out their aching limbs.
Legend cackled at that, perhaps a little manically as he rubbed a salve on his joints, and quipped “Well finally, a hero who understands me! Might finally get a little peace and quiet with him around!”
They’d all laughed at that, passing around a waterskin and a bite of dried meat before continuing their ascent. It wasn’t the easiest climb they had ever endured, but they had all been through worse, both as a Chain of Links and on their own adventures. It would be worth it, they were all sure, to meet another brother.
The sky was dark by the time they finally made it to the top, the only light coming from the stars and the thin sliver of moon hanging overhead. The Chain were panting and exhausted as they finally flopped down on solid, horizontal ground, and despite their best intentions were starting to feel a little annoyed that this hero had apparently picked the most hard to reach place in the whole of his Hyrule for a home.
Looking back, maybe they should have realised then that something was up.
He wasn’t hard to find after that. The woodcutter’s cottage was near enough to the ledge and the Hero had lit a few lanterns to make it visible. They could smell food in the air, and when they made it to the hut they found the Hero bent over a cookpot, making a dinner big enough for ten.
He didn’t speak as they approached, didn’t look up from where he sat huddled in his cloak, but gestured for them to join him.
“Are you Link?” Time asked, settling himself down on an upturned log. Normally he might have been more tactful about his question, but at this point they were all exhausted and he just wanted to know that he’d reached the right place.
The figure nodded and then - improbably - pulled a bunch of bananas from his cloak and tossed them to one side.
Wind laughed. “Is that a bunch of bananas in your pocket or are you just happy to see us?”
Spirit clipped him around the ear. The bananas sat, untouched, on the ground nearby, and this seemed to satisfy the newest Link.
It quickly became obvious that this was as much conversation as they were going to get out of their new brother. When they asked him questions he would nod or shake his head and he listened to their story with more patience than most - many of them still remembered the lengths they had gone to to convince Four that they weren’t a cult - but otherwise he sat still as a statue, huddled and separate from the group.
They didn’t push him. They had all seen, when he threw the bananas, what lay under his hood. They had all seen the mask, a uniform stretch of blue fabric that covered his entire face, decorated around the edges to match his tunic. They all saw the set of eyes nervously staring out at them from behind the eye holes, glittering in the reflected firelight.
It didn’t seem polite to ask questions.
So he sat in silence as they ate, watching and listening as they awkwardly made conversation around him. When someone asked about his portion he just shrugged and made the sign for ‘later’.
For a brief moment, when they had finished eating, they worried that they wouldn’t be able to encourage this strange, skittish hero to come close enough to touch the Master Sword. When Sky drew it, the blade gleaming a holy light, he shied away, eyes flicking from person to person behind his mask.
“It’s just to give you a nickname.” Sky beamed at him as he spoke, eager as always to reach out and befriend his new brother. “It gets awkward if we’re all called Link, after all.”
That seemed to do it. The new Hero crept forwards, a thin hand wrapped in scars snaking out from under his cloak to barely brush against the sword’s hilt before he darted away again.
Sky, if possible, smiled even wider. “Welcome, Hero of the Wild.”
Newly dubbed ‘Wild’ flinched like he’d been struck and nodded in resignation.
-
Wild, they called him.
It wasn’t their fault. They didn’t mean anything by it. It was just the name that the sword had given him, and they were in the habit of going with whatever the sword said. They had no way of knowing how much he hated it, why it made him feel sick to his stomach.
When he first awoke in the cold stone of the shrine, he hadn’t understood that he was different. He had no context for other people, had presumed that everyone looked the way that he did. He did not understand why the old man, sitting by the campfire, looked at him with such disgust.
(“Cover yourself, boy!” the old man had scolded, pressing a mask into his hands. “No decent hylian should have to look at such a horror!”)
So he had silently taken the mask, face burning with shame as he strapped it into place. It was a flimsy thing, that first mask, the fit off as it sat tight and stuffy across his face. Still, it hid the worst of his shame, his failure, from the world. The rest could be disguised with loose-fitting clothes that covered the worst of the scarring and didn’t rub too harshly on his tender skin.
It was fine. He could manage. It didn’t stop him from freeing the Divine Beasts, after all, or from destroying the Calamity. That was the most important thing, after all.
Still, a small, selfish part of him couldn’t help but feel lonely. He did everything that was asked of him, helped everyone that he could, but he never stayed too long in any one place afterwards. A few people had offered to put him up - Teba in Rito Village, Sidon of the Zora. Even Hudson had assured him that he was always welcome in Tarrey Town, that it was the least he could offer after Link had built the town from scratch.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t worth the risk. It would only take one careless move, one slip, and everything would be ruined. He’d lose everything, and he didn’t know if he could take that kind of rejection.
Once, early in his journey, he had gone without the mask. He had left Duelling Peaks stable and it had been raining non-stop for days. His scars hurt, and the tightness of that first mask only made them worse. Travelling alone in the middle of the night, he hadn’t thought that it would be a problem to take the mask off for a few hours.
When he came across a group of travellers under attack by bokoblins he reacted on instinct. Even weakened as he was in those early days, it was an easy fight to win and he had been triumphant as he turned to face the travellers-
Only to receive a branch in his face as someone screamed, cries of ‘get away! Monster! Monster!’ filling his ears. It took him a moment to understand, to realise what had happened. That in the dim moonlight and deep shadows he had not been recognised as a hylian, that the travellers thought he was a monster.
He had whimpered and fled before they could hit him again, arms pulled up to hide his scars. From then on, the mask stayed in place at all times.
-
It was okay. He was doing fine. He carved out a life for himself, of sorts, after the Calamity was defeated. The house in Hateno he passed on to Zelda, knowing that she would get far more joy out of the quaint cottage and friendly community than he ever would. He knew the whole time that he couldn’t have stayed there, after all, it was too central, too close to other people and he needed privacy.
He moved up to the Great Plateau instead. There were more than enough natural resources within its boundaries for him to live comfortably. He had been happy to make his home in the old woodcutter’s cottage where the ghost of the King had waited for his awakening for so long, where he had
(you can share my meal, boy, but turn the other way if you do)
first learned how to cook foods that gave him special effects. Sure, it was a little lonely, but it was also safe. No one else lived up here and while Zelda and the Champions insisted on the occasional visit, they always gave warning first.
Well. Kass also visited and he never gave warning, but you could hear him coming a mile off so it didn’t really count.
And then Hylia sent nine travellers to the Great Plateau. Not just travellers, but the Heroes of the Distant Past, no less! Actual Heroes who had succeeded in their journeys, who had been through adventure after adventure without failure. It was all Link could do when Zelda sent word that she had dreamed of their coming not to go into a spiral of stress and recriminations then and there.
Instead he had cooked. The Heroes would likely be annoyed that he had made them climb so far to reach him, and would certainly be hungry, so he had made them a small dinner to eat. Which had ballooned into a large dinner. Which had grown into a feast of stew and rice balls stuffed with as many fillings as he could think of. When he realised he didn’t actually have enough plates for everything (why had he not stuck to meat skewers? That would have been so much easier!) he baked a series of bread rolls to pour the stew into. There! That would be okay!
He looked at the feast he had prepared and thought that no matter what else happened, at least he could be confident that his cooking skills wouldn’t let him down.
The Heroes seemed to like the meal at least, although Link didn’t miss the looks they shot him when he signed that he’d eat later. They didn’t press the matter, at least. He didn’t know if he could have taken that, Heroes of the Past or not.
And then, of course, it had all fallen apart. First the Master Sword had given him the title Wild because of course it did. It was like a kick in the teeth when Sky - who seemed like such a nice person - had pronounced it his name. The Chosen Hero had seemed so happy and earnest when he said it, as if it was anything other than a condemnation from Hylia herself. As if it wasn’t proof that it didn’t matter that the Calamity had gone and the Divine Beasts and Zelda were freed: he’d still failed.
And then a portal had appeared. Of course, a portal would show up then and there. Why would Hylia let him get one final night’s sleep in his own bed when she could throw him head-first into another time with a bunch of strangers?
But Wild knew that he was in no position to argue, so when the others had asked if he was ready to go through a few minutes later he had simply pulled his cloak tighter around his body and nodded.
Well, he thought as he stepped into the portal, sparing one final glance back at his cottage. There was no turning back now.
-
The next morning Wild lay curled in his bedroll, his fingers curled into his blanket in a vice-like grip as he watched the sun slowly begin to rise through the trees. He hadn’t slept a wink all night, his heart hammering and his body too tense to even think of beginning to unwind enough to drift away.
It felt unnatural, sleeping on the ground like this. Time, the tallest one, the leader in gleaming plate armour with tattoos on his face and a scar over one eye, had patiently taken him aside when he tried to climb a sturdy looking tree. They had a routine, he explained, a nightly watch that three of them did in shifts. It meant that there was always someone keeping an eye on the camp, that it was safe for them to all sleep in the open warmth of the fire.
Wild hadn’t been convinced. It would have seemed rude to ignore him, though, so he obediently followed time away from the safety of his tree and towards the fire. The other nine men - the nine Heroes - were already settling in for the night, their bedrolls scattered in a haphazard pattern. They all clearly knew each other well, were happy to all but sleep on top of each other.
Wild had glanced back at his tree with longing, but made do with the ground. At least no one said anything when he made up his own bedroll obviously away from the rest, and though he knew that one of them - Twilight, he thought his name was - saw him checking that the buckles of his mask were tight before he lay down, it wasn’t brought up.
Good. Wild wasn’t sure if he could have taken the questioning.
And now here he was, wide awake, bone weary, and hungry. He hadn’t gotten a chance to eat the night before, what with the portal suddenly appearing and everything. As soon as they had stepped through they had walked straight into a battle, and when that was done the Chain had been tired enough to set up for the night in the defeated monsters’ own camp.
It was a sensible decision, and Wild knew that his present hunger was nobody’s fault but his own. He could have slipped up the tree and eaten. He could have used his voice to explain that he needed some privacy and slipped into the woods. But instead he had frozen up and curled into his bedroll, too much of a coward to do anything else.
Slowly, quietly, he sat up and looked around. All the camp was asleep, the steady sound of snoring and even breathing filling the clearing. The campfire was dying down, and across it he could see the Hero with a scarf - Warriors - leaning back against a tree, idly checking his sword for signs of wear. He looked up as Wild moved and the Champion froze like a deer before a hunter.
But Warriors just gave him a lazy smile and lifted his hands to sign.
“Morning.” He said
It took Wild a moment to gather the courage to sign the greeting back, and then gestured towards the woods, hoping to Hylia that the Captain wouldn’t ask what he wanted to do there.
But Warriors just gave him a thumbs up and waved him off, smiling.
Wild barely remembered to sign a thank you before dashing off into the trees. He didn’t feel himself finally start to relax until the camp was well out of sight and he could no longer hear the sounds of snoring.
This was more like it. Surrounded on all sides by trees, nothing there to see him but nature. Once he was sure he was alone, Wild found a mossy log to sit on and pulled out his slate, flicking through for something to eat. He settled on rice balls, checking once more that he really was alone before loosening the straps of his mask and slipping it off.
He stared at it for a moment. Times had changed since the king first pressed that flimsy, stuffy mask into his hands on the Great Plateau. He had collected a number of different masks over the course of his journey, but this was his favourite by a long shot.
Zelda had it made for him not long after their journey ended. It was a design he had been thinking about for several months, but he had never dreamed that she would find his diagrams and actually have the thing made. She’d thought of everything, from the buckles enchanted to only come loose on his command to the rubber ridge on the inside of the left cheek, to compensate for where his own flesh has long since been torn away. All of his masks had since been fitted with something similar, and Wild had never been more grateful.
Sighing, he set the mask down and began to nibble at the rice balls, letting his stomach gradually untwist from the knots it had tied itself in.
It was fine. It was all fine. He would figure this out. There were bound to be teething problems, after all, travelling with nine Heroes. He may not quite fit in, but these were decent people. He was sure that if he just kept his head down and made himself useful then he wouldn’t be too much of a burden to them.
Behind him someone stood on a branch and it snapped. Wild shrieked in surprise, slamming the mask to his face and hissing in pain when he may have smooshed his nose a little too hard.
He hoped it wasn’t broken. He wouldn’t mind if it was misshapen, but bloody noses were a pain to deal with when you wore a mask all day.
“Shit!” Whoever it was hissed and two figures came into view.
Ah, it was the twins.
No, Wild corrected himself, not twins. They had explained this the previous night, Wind and Spirit, that despite how similar they looked, were born centuries apart from one another. The fact that they were almost identical and seemed to be the same age down to the day was just chance - or perhaps the goddess’s will. There seemed to be some debate on that subject.
“Oh! Hi, Wild!” said the twin covered in freckles and wearing what looked like some sort of blue overalls. Spirit, he thought. He was smiling happily, as if he hadn’t just stumbled on Wild crouching at the base of a tree with one hand squashing his mask onto his face and a crumbled rice-ball on the ground around him.
“Hey! I didn’t know you were up!” said the one with the more tanned skin and the loose tunic decorated with a lobster. He looked at the small plate of rice balls on one side of Wild, at the scattered mess on the other, then at the mask still tightly pressed to his face. He shifted from one foot to another. “You… eating breakfast?”
Wild nodded, keeping his hand in position on his mask. He could see their eyes on his twisted fingers, noticing the missing ear on the left hand side of his head. This was far from ideal, but he couldn’t bolt now. He had to just sit there and pray that they didn’t say anything.
“Did you get dinner last night?” Spirit asked, a crease suddenly appearing between his brows. “You didn’t eat anything at your house…”
Shit, he’d been caught. Wild felt himself shrink in on himself, his shoulders drawing inwards. He shook his head. This was it. Now they’d call him out for being irresponsible, for being selfish, for-
“Oh!” Spirit gasped. “Oh, right! Well we’ll give you some privacy. Sorry for interrupting, Wild.”
He made to leave, but Wind caught his arm, his eyes narrowing and his lips twisting into a mischievous smile. “On one condition.”
“On no conditions!” Spirit protested, pulling his arm away and putting his hands on his hips.
“On one teeny tiny condition!”
Wild knew he was joking, but he couldn’t stop his stomach from flipping at his words. What condition? What did he want? He pressed harder on his mask, breathing speeding up. He lifted one hand to sign “what?”, barely managing to stop his hand from shaking.
“You have to make breakfast for us when you’re done.” Wind grinned. “Seriously! Dinner last night was the best food we’ve eaten in months. No one here can cook. Hyrule puts two day old raw meat in cold water and calls it stew and Four burns everything to charcoal. Please, Wild. We’ll starve if you don’t cook for us, pleeeeease!”
If he hadn’t been wound up so tight, Wild might have laughed. Wind had slumped against a deeply unamused looking Spirit, his hand slapped to his forehead in a mock swoon and his eyes rolled back in his head as he pouted dramatically.
Okay, maybe just one laugh. A single chuckle. Wild nodded.
“Okay.” he paused. Could he sign this one-handed? He held up a finger to ask them to wait a moment and then shifted to quickly fasten one of the buckles at the back of his head. It wouldn’t hold up for much movement, but it would do for now. Both his hands now free, he signed again, “You do dishes.”
“Deal!” Spirit said. “Wind, come on, let him eat!”
“You drive a hard bargain, Wild!” Wind called, giving a little salute as he was dragged away by his not-twin. “See you soon!”
“I’ll make sure no-one else bothers you!” Spirit called, and they disappeared from sight.
Wild watched them go, waiting until the forest was quiet once more and trying to steady his breathing before finally removing his mask again. He looked at his remaining rice balls, thinking about breakfast.
He could make porridge. Or omelettes.
He hummed, nibbling at another rice ball. It all depended on how much time he had. There was no sense making a kedgeree if they were going to dash off in a hurry. Maybe he should start having the beginnings of basic recipes in his slate?
He finished the end of his meal and put the mask carefully back into position, pulling the two straps tightly closed at the back of his head.
Of course, if they weren’t in a hurry he could make something nice. The Heroes were trusting him with their own food, after all, he’d hate them to think he was holding out on them.
Wild pulled his cloak around his shoulders, but forced himself not to pull it up over his head. If he was going to be travelling with these men and boys then they’d see his missing ear, the scar on his hairline and around his throat sooner or later. No point hiding it from them.
Still, he felt ill as he stepped back into the clearing.
A few more people were up now. Spirit and Wind were by the fire, chatting to Four. The second tallest of the group - a well-muscled rancher with black marks on his face and a wolf-pelt across his shoulders - was shaving in the reflection of a shield. He looked up as Wild approached, smiling.
“I’ve heard you’re making breakfast.” he greeted, shifting his pack to give Wild a clearer path to the cookpot. His voice was thick with a honeyed accent that Wild couldn’t quite place, but something about it felt comfortable and safe. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you know. I mean - I’m not complaining. Your cookin’s the best darn thing I’ve eaten on this whole damn journey. But don’t let the twins bully you into it if you don’t want to.”
Wild nodded, swallowing heavily. “Want to.” he signed, his gestures small and compact. There! He was practically having a conversation now!
“Hell yeah.” Twilight grinned, turning back to his shaving. “I mean, I was here to support you no matter what, but I am so excited not to eat Warriors’ cookin’ again.”
Wild allowed himself a small laugh, ignoring how his heart hammered as he sat down beside the cookpot. He looked around. No one seemed to be moving very fast. Half the camp was either still asleep or dozing, with Sky snoring up a storm a few feet away. Those that were awake seemed happy doing their own thing, chatting or shaving or looking after their weapons. Wild figured they had time for something at least a little nice.
Besides, he had always found the process of making crepes to be pretty soothing. Which was why he ended up making such a ridiculous amount of food, even for ten hungry heroes. Well, nine, plus Wild. He figured if there was any left he could put it in his slate and eat it later. It wasn’t like he was hungry any more, after all.
“Something smells good!” Sky’s voice came from close behind him, and Wild was fairly proud of how well he managed to control his flinch.
The Chosen Hero circled around beside him, far too close for comfort, only a foot away. Wild nervously scooted a little to his left. He didn’t want to insult the Hero, but the idea of being so easily within arms reach was… not ideal.
Thankfully, Sky didn’t mention it, only sniffed the air eagerly. “I haven’t had crepes in forever! Are these for us?” he asked, pointing to the massive stack as if it wasn’t patently obvious that one person couldn’t have hoped to eat them alone.
Wild nodded and gestured to the assorted condiments he had set out, honey and sugar, lemons and then to the pan of bacon he was frying up. Sky’s eyes went wide.
“All of it? Are you sure?” he asked
Wild nodded, drawing into himself. Had he done something wrong? Maybe he should have made something simpler, something they could eat as they walked. Maybe they didn’t eat big breakfasts here. Wild felt his cheeks burn as he clutched his spatula. The twists and ridges across his hands and fingers were clearly visible as he cooked, had that put Sky off his food? Maybe he should have worn gloves.
“Wild, this is incredible!” Sky beamed. “You’ve put in so much effort! Guys! Come and see, Wild’s made us all breakfast and it smells amazing!”
“Aw hell yeah!” said Legend, standing up and stretching, his joints cracking painfully. “Finally we get a Link who can cook! Can we just dig in?” he asked as he plonked himself down beside Sky.
Wild nodded and served the bacon onto a plate, pushing it towards them before scuttling a safe distance away. That was more than enough close proximity to the Heroes for one morning, thank you very much! Relieved as he was that they were happy with his cooking, he wasn’t going to linger by the pot as they served themselves. This was already more social than he had been in…
Well. A while. He wasn’t exactly social ever.
The Heroes all crowded around the food, serving themselves and crowing about how good it tasted. Wild felt a small flush of pride as he began to slink away, but before he could get too far, Twilight turned to face him.
“You not joining us?” he asked, and his voice was so friendly, his expression so open and genuine that Wild faltered.
He stared at him for a moment, feeling a little stupid, before he raised his hands. “Already ate.” he admitted, shifting from foot to foot. “In woods.”
Twilight blinked for a moment, clearly processing this and the meaning behind it, then nodded. He shuffled to the side and tossed a pillow towards him. “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. We had a late night last night, we’re going to take it easy this morning. There’s no rush.”
Wild looked at the pillow in his hands. It was made of a heavy, woven fabric, a tapestry of swirls and a foreign alphabet decorating it. It felt nice in his hands and he ran his fingers over it. He… didn’t have to leave. He could maybe just perch on the edge of the circle. Twilight had passed him the pillow after all, it would be rude to refuse.
Nodding faintly, he lowered himself to sit a few feet away from Twilight, well out of reach from the rest of the group, but still technically part of it. The rancher grinned at him through a mouthful of crepe, honey and wildberries dripping down his chin.
“Thith ith tho good!” he said through his food, and Wild couldn’t help but giggle a little.
“Hey Wild!” Four called from a few feet away. “What do you call these berries? They’re great!”
“Wild-berry.” he signed carefully.
Four looked delighted. “Like you! They’re Wild’s Berries! I love it!”
Wild ducked his head. He still didn’t know how to feel about the nickname, but the Heroes seemed genuinely pleased, and there was no malice in Four’s voice. The rest of the group laughed in appreciation and Wild felt something warm and unfamiliar flicker in his chest.
Maybe- just maybe - they could make this work.